


covet thy neighbor

by potidaea



Category: Teenage Bounty Hunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F, I am very sorry, Mild Smut, Tupperware as a plot device, april is a vague 21, catholic traditions bc idk christian mass, i truly have no explanation for this, stepril endgame?, the love triangle(s) no one wanted, the milf au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:13:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27017860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potidaea/pseuds/potidaea
Summary: It wasn’t supposed to happen, but sometimes things just do.The entire affair - she should call it what it was - could be traced back to the moment she decided to stay in Atlanta for college.or: the milf au
Relationships: April Stevens/Debbie Wesley, April Stevens/Sterling Wesley
Comments: 16
Kudos: 79





	covet thy neighbor

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on twitter @ [ki1yun](https://twitter.com/ki1yun)
> 
> thank you @girlpash @karalovesallthegirls for betaing/supporting this questionable endeavor

It wasn’t supposed to happen, but sometimes things just do.

The entire affair - _she should call it what it was_ \- could be traced back to the moment she decided to stay in Atlanta for college. Her dad had actually, finally, left. He moved his practice, and his new girlfriend, up to Charlotte, so he wasn’t worth the wasted energy of her anxiety any longer. But his absence left chaos to reign in his wake. Her mother spent her last year of high school more strung out than usual; swinging from a persona of eerie Stepford plasticine to long stretches of time where April had to force-feed her microwave dinners.

So, Emory, it was.

Not that there was anything _wrong_ with Emory. It was a perfectly respectable institution - and they had offered her a scholarship thanks to her endless stream of extracurriculars. Atlanta was just soaked in the memory of Sterling Wesley, and she had spent the last year praying - yes, _praying_ \- for the day she could leave her aching heart behind. 

Apparently, God shook His Magic 8 Ball and it said, _better luck next time_.

So, April Stevens was perched in the corner of a party on Greek Row, nursing her very own bottle of Jack Daniels - (She was not, under even the most dire of circumstances, consuming anything prepared by a frat boy.) - and thinking about Sterling Wesley. A few more sips and she would maybe even consider crying over Sterling Wesley. Not that it took that much.

She was about halfway through the bottle when a girl she recognized from Bid Day came strolling over to talk to her, leaving a group of laughing college boys behind. Their eyes, though glassy, followed her steps.

“Hey, you’re in Chi O, right? We met at rush.” the freckled redhead asked, shortening her new sisterhood’s name. Her loose t-shirt and jeans made her look more like a skateboarder than a sorority girl. 

“Yeah,” April responded with vague interest. She remembered the girl well. It wasn’t completely out of the question that they were the only two lesbians dumb enough to rush, so April _definitely_ took note of her. “Legacy, so…” she shrugged. _It wasn’t my choice_.

“Cool. So, uh, listen. Those guys,” she nodded in the general direction of the keg, “have been saying what an ice queen you are, like, you’re surveying your kingdom or whatever, and I said I could get you off your throne. So, anyway, now I’m over here.” 

“My throne?” She clarified with a raised brow and a smirk that betrayed the stiffness in her voice.

After that point, the details began to blur, but this much was clear: Emily - the redhead eventually reintroduced herself over the blaring music - responded only by dragging her to a beer pong tournament they definitely lost to two Pikes that had at least 100lbs on them. 

April remembers this - and more - the next morning.

It was barely seven o’clock, the sun just beginning to rise when her eyes cracked open with a groan. Her bed felt suspiciously comfortable...and her dorm didn’t smell like what she was certain were illegal substances wafting through the grates, combined with definitely illegal amounts of mold. Something wasn’t right.

Her sleep-blurred, and admittedly still a little tipsy, vision cleared enough to take in horrifyingly familiar surroundings. She was on Sterling Wesley’s couch. Except, Sterling wasn’t there. Of course, she wasn’t. She was in Rhode Island, studying at Brown. Because she was perfectly fine just _leaving_. It’s not as if she cared to say goodbye.

_Sterling._

_Holy fuck._

The thick, heavy, fucking painful fog was just starting to hit her like a freight train when Debbie Wesley stepped out of the kitchen.

“I made coffee.”

“Fuck,” April groaned into the arm, shielding her face from the light filtering in through the blinds. And the world.

\--

At some point, Emily had convinced her it would be a good idea, no, a _totally amazing, romantic_ _idea_ to show up on The Wesley’s front porch. _You’ve gotta do it._ Between the whisky and beer, she couldn’t remember that Sterling was not even in Georgia anymore. So, at least the liquor had served its purpose up until she decided to Uber across town.

It was nearly one in the morning when she started pounding on the front door. 

“Whatever, Sterling! I know you’re in there.” Her words slurred together as she mumbled to herself, “with your stupid, beautiful face. And your beautiful blinky eyes and your...your stupid brain!” 

The door swung open and her fist met air. 

“What in the hell...o?”

It was Sterling. She was definitely, absolutely, 100-percent positive it was Sterling. So, she kissed her. Except, this Sterling was different. This Sterling didn’t kiss like Sterling; this Sterling was only kind of kissing her back. This Sterling was not Sterling at all - it was Mrs. Wesley.

She was going to kill Emily.

\--

It took all of her willpower to drag her body off of the couch and into the kitchen. Ten steps felt like ten miles as her feet stuck in the mud of her fatigue and embarrassment. As she slunk through the entryway, she was hit with the scent of freshly scrambled eggs. Her stomach turned a little, but she probably needed the food.

April hadn’t been in The Wesley’s home in years; aside from her brief visit to their woodshop, it had been nearly a decade since she’d walked those decadent halls. Everything about it reminded her of Sterling in the worst kind of way, right down to the distinct unmatchable comfort of coming home. The Wesley’s house was always safe in ways that hers never was. But she couldn’t think about that when she was actively forcing the contents of her stomach to _stay put_. 

The walk to the kitchen felt like second nature - the muscle memory of smaller feet racing for the best brownie carried her there through exhaustion. 

“Mrs. Wesley, I’m _so_ sorry,” April said in greeting as she stepped toward the island.

The older blonde simply passed over a large cup of coffee. “Milk and sugar?”

“Thank you...uh, just sugar, please.”

Debbie moved quietly around the kitchen until a small mason jar of sugar was placed in front of her, along with a spoon. She stirred the sweet granules into her mug and sipped readily, hoping for some relief. 

Then, a plate of eggs appeared.

“Thanks,” she almost whispered. She was _mortified_ and there was absolutely no reason for Mrs. Wesley to be so nice to her. For all she knew, April had tortured both of her daughters for years. Stuck on an endless seesaw of embarrassment and nausea, she pushed the eggs around her plate. 

The two women sat in long silence as the blonde thumbed through the morning paper.

“So, do you want to tell me why you slept on my couch last night?”

“Is this not the Hilton?” she quipped, as nonchalantly as one could with a pounding headache.

Debbie laughed lightly. A beat. She continued softly, awkwardly. “Sterling didn’t mention...I mean, she, uh, said she’s b-bi-bisexual. But...she didn’t mention.”

April paused, taking a sip of her coffee. “She wouldn’t,” she said succinctly before stabbing an innocent forkful of eggs and shoveling them into her mouth. The taste was overwhelming and made her want to gag, but then again, so did talking about Sterling.

The older blonde nodded in understanding. She knew not to push. “Are you going to mass this mornin’ with your momma?”

She glanced at the clock. It was only 7:30 - she had time to gather herself before her mother and the Lord saw her shame. “Yeah.”

“If you want to sleep some more, you can borrow one of the girls’ dresses.”

The thought of wearing Sterling’s clothes made April want to scream. Instead, she said, “I should really go back to campus first. Thank you, though.”

“Are you at Emory? The girls didn’t mention.” April nodded. “I’ll give you a ride.”

“You don’t have to do that, Mrs. Wesley. I can just Uber back.”

“Oh, I think you’ve taken enough Ubers this weekend, honey,” she teased. 

April fought back her embarrassment and let finely tuned Southern etiquette win out. “Well, thank you, then.” 

“Of course. Help yourself to some more breakfast while I go get changed.”

\--

The drive back to campus wasn’t the most awkward twenty minutes of her life, but it was up there. The night was becoming less blurry and her skin was beginning to itch remembering the kiss. Like, she wasn’t blind. Mrs. Wesley was _hot_ and her sobering brain was only slightly regretful - and even that was mostly due to the earth-shattering humiliation of this infinitely well put together woman seeing her spin out. 

As they pulled into the parking lot by her residence hall, the older blonde spoke. “April, do your parents know that you’re...?”

“Gay?” April cleared her throat. “No.”

“Okay, well. Blair’s been lecturing me about,” she gestured in a vaguely circular motion with her hand, “all that. So. Don’t you worry about me.” 

“Thanks.”

“We’ll see you at church.” As April shut the door, the blonde called out the window. “Come by the house if you need anything, okay?”

\--

She was going to go to the house. Say thank you, bring coffee. She really was. But life moved so quickly and maybe her throat closed up just a little bit at the thought of looking Debbie Wesley in the eye. _She knew_. What if she told someone? What if she told Sterling what happened? Forget the kiss - that she had shown up drunk, looking for her ex-girlfriend in the middle of the night? 

So, a year passed. Then, another. 

Mostly, they interacted at Sunday morning mass. Passing smiles or brief _peace be with you’_ s. Maybe, if her mother felt like socializing after mass, they would exchange pleasantries in the lobby, or even at the Country Club - but Debbie Wesley never, _never_ let on that April Stevens was anything more than a good Christian girl who would go on to marry the first bumbling frat boy that asked her to pref. (She would most certainly not be marrying Jake Peters or his backward visor.)

Then, one Sunday morning The Wesley’s pew was empty. A clear sign of trouble. With the twins up north since college began, only Mr. and Mrs. Wesley attended their usual 10am mass. Still, it was odd. There were no holidays, no scheduled mid-semester breaks, no big lacrosse games coming up. Any championships would certainly be the buzz of the Club, even if the Men’s Parlor usually resorted to grumbling about _what_ _young ladies should do_ (hint: not play Division I Lacrosse). They were just _gone_.

Ms. Stevens leaned over to whisper conspiratorially in her ear after the homily with a glint in her eye. “They’re separating. Everyone at the Club is talking about it.” _Not talking about you for once, you mean, mother?_

For the rest of mass, April’s eyes waned to the empty pew on their left. It seemed it was finally time to accept the invitation the other woman offered to her on that balmy Atlanta morning outside her freshman dorm. So, April arrived on Debbie Wesley’s doorstep that night - this time sober and at a much more reasonable hour - with a bottle of wine and chicken biscuits. Homemade, of course.

“April, it’s not really a good time.” She looked disheveled; wrapped in a large grey cable-knit sweater, her hair was pulled into a loose bun. Yesterday’s makeup adorned her face.

“Consider it a delayed thank you gift,” she held out the tupperware. “And I figured you could use a friendly face.” Last semester, she made the mistake of hooking up with Jessica Crabtree - a sophomore from Atlanta who was going through an experimental phase. It took a month to convince her mother, and by extension the rest of the Country Club elite, that Jessica was just jealous and spreading rumors because her ex-boyfriend got a little flirty at a party. It didn’t escape her attention that Debbie Wesley’s reaction to the ‘rumors’ was a simple _“Well, you know how that Jessica is.”_

The blonde considered her for a moment, then, a sigh. “Right. Well, c’mon in, I guess.”

A Julia Roberts movie April didn’t recognize was playing on the television in the living room as she trailed behind Debbie into the kitchen. 

Two wine glasses and another two small plates came to rest on the island after Debbie rummaged around the cabinets for a moment. It wasn’t entirely unlike the last time she was there, though the brunette felt distinctly more in control this time around as she silently plated food. The other woman uncorked the nicest looking bottle of cheap red wine April could find at Publix, pouring two even (if hefty) glasses.

“Do you want honey? Or, actually, I think I have some leftover gravy I can heat up.” Before April had the chance to answer, Debbie continued. “I’m gonna heat it up.” 

Ducking into the fridge, she pulled out a small container which was unceremoniously plopped in the microwave. After a short thirty seconds, Debbie motioned them toward the living room. April followed close behind. 

As they relaxed into the couch, the credits were rolling on the movie and it switched over to a commercial break.

“Did you make these?” Debbie asked, a bite taken out of her chicken biscuit.

“Mhmm,” April nodded in the affirmative over a sip of wine.

“It’s very good,” she complimented.

April gave a slight grin, then, emboldened by the broken silence, asked, “Are you...okay?”

The older woman took a long sip of her wine. “I won’t lie to you, honey. I’ve seen better days, but it’s not the end. Things aren’t that easy when you’re married. It’s...just…”

“A maybe someday,” she called back to words she wished she didn’t remember.

“Right. I like that.” A beat. “Anyway, what _is_ the seasoning on these?”

Suddenly, April was launching into a detailed recipe-cum-lecture on the proper way to cook a chicken biscuit, and it felt like mere seconds later that they’d drained a bottle of wine during their impromptu _Legally Blonde_ mini-marathon. It was at that point Debbie Wesley decided it was the height of modern comedy to poke fun at April’s brief dalliance with Jessica Crabtree. 

_“I don’t know how she got into Emory, bless her heart. Surely you can do better than that.”_

April feigned annoyance but it was frankly wonderful to see the light back in the other woman’s eyes. Which were, like, _super pretty_.

  
And maybe she was a little tipsy, because she’s thinking about her ex’s mother’s eyes. And also, maybe there was the slightest nanobyte of a thought about the way her lips looked when she smiled, and that time she kissed them and what it would be like to do it again. 

Okay, maybe more than a little tipsy.

It’s possible she was having an out of body experience, that there was some sort of phantasm haunting the Wesley home and it overtook her soul - because what other reason could there be for the way her muscles were moving on their own accord, across the cushion that separated them, and straight toward Debbie Wesley?

Suddenly, they were kissing and this time, the other woman was really kissing her back. Their lips moved together, messy with alcohol as April’s hand moved to grip at the other woman’s waist, seeking contact. Red wine mingled with vanilla chapstick. A perfectly manicured hand pulled her closer. 

Whatever this was, it didn’t seem to be slowing down - not if the tongue brushing against her bottom lip was anything to go by.

The brunette shifted, pushing Debbie onto her back. “Is this okay?”

With a breathy, _“yeah,”_ a hand was fisted into her shirt, tugging her into another kiss.

\--

The very first thing April did the next day was text Emily. 

**April:** Meet me in the Center after your 2pm

Emily was bound to be asleep in her corner of the apartment for another three hours, so when her phone buzzed in International Law with a thumbs up emoji, she took it as a sign that the other girl was just rolling out of bed. After a short lecture and a brief walk across campus, she found her best friend at a couch near the windows with two iced coffees.

“Ooh, coffee!” She clapped her hands in excitement. “Thanks.” 

“What’s up?”

April puffed out a breath. “Shit, okay, so remember that night? Like, _the_ night?”

Emily took a pointed sip of her coffee, a brow raised. “You mean do I remember the night you got drunk and kissed your ex-girlfriend’s mom? I don’t think we’ve talked about it before.”

April narrowed her eyes. “Okay, first of all, it was _your_ fault. Second of all, you _know_ , I didn’t know it was her. And-” She pursed her lips, cutting herself off. They’d had this conversation before. She looked up. _Lord help me._ “I did it again,” she squeaked out.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I did it. Again.”

The redhead looked somewhat like a guppy as she opened and closed in confusion. “Explain.”

“Well, I went over after church-”

She nodded, “As one does.”

“-and I brought food and we drank and, I don’t know, I just kissed her.”

“You gotta fill in the blanks for me, April. It’s too early for lesbian Mad Libs.”

“It’s three o’clock,” she said, exasperated.

“Well, it’s early for _me_.”

The former Fellowship leader rolled her eyes and anxiously pressed down the _SODA_ button on the top of her coffee lid. “She wasn’t at church and I guess she and Mr. Wesley split - or, they’re on a break, I don’t know. He’s staying up in Boston so he can be near…” She stopped herself, shaking her head. “...you don’t care about that. Point is, we made out.”

Green eyes lit up at the explanation, “Dude! You are so fucking stupid.” A beat. “Are you seeing her again?”

\--

It was a week later when she finally saw Debbie Wesley again. A week she had spent thinking about full lips and wandering hands and, honestly, _what was she thinking_. So, as she settled in for mass, she felt dangerously close to catching fire, acutely aware of the woman sitting mere feet from her...certain that the whole congregation knew what she had done. Still, she was glad to see the blonde’s presence fill The Wesley’s pew again if it meant she was feeling better.

Somehow, and she wasn’t sure how - probably due to the fact her mind had been... _otherwise occupied_ \- she forgot about rote functions of the very same mass she had been attending since birth. It wasn’t until Pastor Booth began reading an all-too-familiar section of scripture that it dawned on her.

_“Lord Jesus Christ, who said to your Apostles: Peace I leave you, my peace I give you; look not on our sins, but. . .”_

The sign of peace. She couldn’t just avoid Debbie Wesley. She was going to have to look her in the eye and shake her hand. She was going to have to speak to her.

The blonde extended her hand across the aisle first. Her Lilly print dress, though conservative enough for morning worship, was just fitted enough to show the curves April now knew for certain were there. “Peace be with you.” The greeting betrayed nothing, though her hand lingered for a moment too long.

April’s spine was arrow-straight, wary of her mother’s watchful eye. “And also with you,” she smiled. 

Oblivious to the sins in their midst, Pastor Booth reconvened mass. April, on the other hand, was itching to text Emily about all kinds of sin. For once in her life, Drunk April had done the right thing and she wanted to scream from the rooftops - or at least send a lot of texts with caps lock on. Unfortunately, her mother was insisting that they go to the Country Club after mass to catch up. _“I feel like I only see you at church these days! Tell me what’s going on at school. How are your grades?”_

As she dragged her feet to the car, a voice stopped her.

“Oh, April!” Debbie called. “Thank you for the biscuits. I meant to bring your tupperware, but, well, you know how morning mass can sneak up on you.”

April chose to ignore her mother’s confused, if not annoyed, glance and saw the statement for what it was: an invitation. “Don’t worry about it, Mrs. Wesley. I can swing by to pick it up.”

“Perfect.” Then, she turned to address her mother. “You’ve got a chef on your hands, Margaret. Y’all drive safe now.” With a bright smile, she walked to her own car...heels that were just slightly taller, sexier than her usual church shoes (not that April made a habit of noticing) clicking on the way. April couldn’t help but watch.

It was an excruciating hour at the Club, filled with stiff social pleasantries and sadly, not-so-stiff drinks. Her mother abhorred it when she drank in public. _It’s unladylike._ It was ladylike, however, to stay and talk to every single person that crossed their path - which, for the brunette, generally meant answering the same question of _“so, April, have you got yourself a boyfriend now?”_ more times than any proper cardiologist would recommend. 

April just wanted her _fucking_ tupperware _._ And she got it, eventually. But first, it sat in Debbie Wesley’s kitchen cabinets for about six months. Always a reason to go back.

On that day, though - the first day - she drove straight from the Club, still wearing her church clothes. 

When Debbie Wesley opened the door with an unassuming smile, she pointed as if just remembering the reason for April’s visit. She was nervous. “Oh, you know what, let me go grab that container for you.”

April considered, _really_ considered, for a moment just letting the older woman hand her the worn piece of plastic and never returning to the large home again. Still, her Sperry’d feet followed the sharp clicking of heels on the hardwood and she was back in The Wesley’s kitchen that seemed to be a custom-designed April Stevens honeytrap.

She watched as Debbie rummaged through cabinets. Looking. Or at least she was pretending to, because April could see her tupperware in the drying rack six feet to the blonde’s left. With a smirk, she stepped around the island to pull it from its resting place. Palming the plastic in her hand, she walked toward the blonde, leaving barely an inch between them. Hard plastic scraped across the counter as she placed it in front of the taller woman. “Is this what you’re looking for?” 

April was so close that Debbie could feel the words against her skin. She breathed out a sigh. _Yes._ It was exactly what she was looking for. Craning her neck, she sought the younger woman’s lips. Debbie turned into the kiss, her body shifting into April’s waiting embrace.

“Are we really doing this?”

“I think so,” April mumbled against her lips.

“We should talk,” the blonde said, though her mouth continued to its destination.

April hummed in the affirmative against pink lipstick. “Later.”

It didn’t take much more to spur Debbie Wesley into action; her larger frame allowed her to easily shift the pair toward the living room. They paused, April pinning her against the doorframe. Chapstick-covered lips traversed pale skin, committing it to memory. The taste of her pulse point. The scent of her perfume. The feel of a collarbone under her tongue.

Debbie let out a soft moan. The manicured hand that had been resting on the brunette’s hip reached down to grip her ass, pulling her close.

April smirked in self-satisfaction as their lips met again. She slid a purposeful thigh between the woman’s legs; the floral dress bunched around her hips at the intrusion.

“Couch,” Debbie suggested between kisses.

April took her time pulling away as her tongue traced the other woman’s lips. She didn’t have anywhere to be. 

When they finally stumbled their way to the living room, clothes littered the hallway. Heels we kicked toward the foyer and back toward the kitchen. April’s button-up was crumpled somewhere near her shoes. Her skirt, tossed onto the stairs along with Debbie’s dress.

As frantic as their undressing had been, April had never been so delighted to see a woman in her underwear. The matching pink lace lingerie made her head spin. “Did you wear this to church?”

The blonde, who had apparently felt bold that morning, blushed at the acknowledgment.

“Fuck, that’s hot.”

She was only slightly mournful to watch the thin garments fall to the floor.

\--

After that first time, they fell into an easy rhythm. To anyone who cared to look closely enough, they made perfect sense. April, though she was born into the upper echelons of Atlanta, was never going to fit neatly into her pre-ordained role...and Debbie, well, she was just spit-shined white trash. Their coming together was a sigh of relief.

When Debbie, on her birthday...on _their_ birthday...made the drive to Arrendale State Prison to visit her shit-for-brains sister, April didn’t mind letting her 20-page research paper sit unfinished. Because _fuck_ John Stevens. Instead of re-reading her Diplomacy notes, she spent the afternoon figuring out the most effective ways to make Debbie Wesley forget; to smile. Debbie wondered if one of Anderson’s fart jokes would have been as helpful and shoved the thought away.

Most of the time, April went to the house after class, or on weekends when she wasn’t swamped with work. Debbie didn’t care that, as far as the rest of the world was concerned, they were barely acquaintances - in fact, she preferred it that way. It wasn’t as though she could easily explain that she was having her collegiate lesbian fling twenty years after graduation.

_They learned their lesson the hard way in the steam room at the Club. It was unusually empty for a Sunday afternoon, so it only seemed right to text her girlfriend? fuck buddy? mistress? on her way into the locker room._

**_D:_ ** _I’m going for a steam.  
__\- D x_

**_A:_ ** _Let me sneak away_

_It required leveraging her debate skills and a colorful reimagining of her schedule to escape Mrs. Patterson, bless her heart, but April made her way to the steam room. A brief pause at her locker had her slipping into the humified stall in just a towel - and she found the object of her desire in a similar state of undress._

_“Lock the door,” the blonde commanded from her seat on the bench that lined the wall._

_April happily obliged, dropping her towel to the floor as the lock clicked shut. “What can I do for you?” she asked, stepping forward to tug at the small knot in the towel that hid the older woman’s breasts._

_“I think you can figure something out,” she flirted, fawning at the finger that traced her jawline. “You’re a smart woman.”_

_With her foot, April pulled the towel behind her forward and dropped to her knees on the pseudo-cushion. Her hands moved in reverence over the smooth skin of the woman’s thighs, taking in her heady scent. The brunette’s mouth moved languidly from the bend of her knee to the curve of her pelvis. Fingers curled into her hair as her tongue reached its final destination._

_Debbie loved this - and April was certainly not going to complain. No, she was happy to take her time. Drink her in. It could have been seconds or hours - she didn’t know, too drunk with arousal and lost in the other woman’s body...but she did know that the grip on her hair was tightening deliciously and the moans above her were sounding perfectly breathy._

_And the door was rattling? The door was rattling._

_“Shit,” she placed a kiss on the woman’s thigh, wiping her mouth off on the blonde’s towel. “Sorry. Later.”_

_The pair quickly gathered themselves, rewrapping their towels. Debbie opened the door as April tried her hardest to spontaneously morph through the wall, sitting as far down the bench seat as she could. “Sarah! I’m sorry, honey, the door must’ve been stuck. You should let someone on staff know,” she lied through her sweetest grin._

It wasn’t always sex...it was a lot of the time, of course...but sometimes, April just wanted a quiet place to finish her papers or a big kitchen to cook a warm meal in, to laugh in. She was certain it was a hollow shadow of married life for Debbie, but for April it was more than she’d ever dreamed of. A beautiful woman to come home to in a house that didn’t feel like it was going to crumble down around her...a life of her own. It was magical.

  
  


_Between her mother’s usual feast and the Chi Omega potluck-slash-soup-kitchen-volunteer-shift - Thanksgiving was chaos. April longed for a moment of peace. So, when the hypersensitive smoke detector in her and Emily’s shared apartment kept going off in the middle of their supposed three-course meal, April had had enough. She texted Debbie, who she knew wouldn’t be doing much more than a few FaceTime calls between episodes of House Hunters International, for reprieve. It almost made her hate Sterling - leaving her mother all alone in that big, empty house in exchange for her father’s small apartment._

**_A:_ ** _Can we use your kitchen?_

**_D:_ ** _We?  
__\- D x_

**_A:_ ** _Emily and I are trying to make Thanksgiving dinner. It is...not going well._

**_D:_ ** _As long as I can keep some leftovers, chef.  
__\- D x_

**_A:_ ** _Of course_

_April’s steadily rising blood pressure went down as soon as she entered the familiar home. Debbie opened the door with a grin in a comfortable sweatshirt and leggings. “Hey! Happy Thanksgiving...come on in. Let me know if you need help.”_

_“Just straight through there, Em.” April gestured with the food in her arms. As her friend walked further into the house, April leaned in for a kiss. “Hi. How’re you?”_

_She shrugged off April’s searching eyes with another kiss. “Happy to see you.”_

_“Call them,” suggested the brunette before turning toward the kitchen._

_Later at dinner amongst full plates of chicken (it just wasn’t reasonable to cook a full turkey for two people) and all the trimmings, the trio found themselves laughing and talking comfortably. April had been nervous about Emily finally meeting the older woman, but it seemed for once in her life her roommate was on her best behavior. (When she checked her phone after dessert, she’d find every juvenile thought that passed through the girl’s head had been sent via text.)_

_When Debbie’s phone went off with a sharp ring, it burst their small, rudimentary bubble of normalcy. Certainly, two lesbians and a middle-aged adulterer was not the Pilgrimmatic ideal._

_“Oh, excuse me, girls.” Picking up the call, she spoke into the receiver as she walked toward the living room. “Hi, honey...no, just watching tv...how are the kids?”_

_April stopped listening after that. She cleared her throat, turning to Emily. “Pie?”_

\--

They never spoke at church. That much was obvious. Her mother would sniff out the slightest hint of impropriety in an instant. After church, though...they would fuck and laugh and talk and it was almost romantic. 

Almost. But it never could be. They had an unspoken understanding. 

  
Debbie didn’t take off her wedding ring and April wouldn’t ask her to. 

_On Mondays, April usually woke up in Debbie Wesley’s bed. Debbie would wake up eventually - make them coffee and eggs, like the first time. But she started her mornings gazing at the hand that rested over her torso. The ring that adorned it cost more than she could possibly afford, but in those quiet moments she let herself dream. Pretended the house was hers and the ring was on the finger of a woman who loved her. Sterling, her brain supplied unhelpfully._

April avoided Sterling’s room like it was haunted (because it was) and Debbie only ever said her name like a warning. 

_It was one of the rare times Debbie was at her apartment. Just dropping her off turned into coming up to use the bathroom and one thing led to another._

_“The Girls are coming home for Christmas next week. I could come over again.”_

_“Oh.” April wasn’t sure how to process the news that Sterling would be back in town, but it was probably going to involve several drinks. “Uh, yeah, sure. Text me.”_

It was a particular kind of fucked up, but April didn’t mind. Debbie didn’t seem to either.

\--

“Please,” she sighed out as Debbie unzipped her pants. They had decided to make dinner when suddenly their plans changed. (That is, when April watched the blonde take off her polo because, _What? I don’t want oil stains._ ) 

April was pinned against the counter, a hand shoved into her underwear, and she was desperate. So, it was a surprise when they heard Sterling’s voice call out _“Hey Mom! Surprise!”_ The brunette’s eyes darted around the room, panicked. What the fuck was she supposed to do? Sterling was never supposed to find her there.

Debbie had only just pulled her shirt back on again when the front door slammed. She threw her hands frantically under the faucet and prayed to Dollar Store Soap Jesus. _Of all the times for Sterling to come home._

Turning back to face April, she squeezed her bicep in comfort. _Relax. Breathe._ Quietly, she motioned to her face. _Do I look okay?_

April wiped at her lower lip, clearing stray lip gloss. As her hand retracted, Sterling entered the kitchen.

“Oh.” She paused, unsure how to process the sight of the shorter woman in her home. “What are you doing here?”

April responded with a petulantly raised brow. _What are_ **_you_ ** _doing in Georgia?_

“Hey, honey!” Debbie hugged her daughter tightly. A happy redirection. “April was just picking up some of her mother’s tupperware. Why don’t you go throw your things in your room and then we can catch up? Dinner will be done soon.”

Somewhere in the distance, April could hear Sterling’s agreement, her feet clomping up the stairs, but she was too busy trying to shake the cobwebs from her brain. In a hushed whisper, Debbie spoke. “I’m so sorry. She didn’t tell me she’d be coming home.” She gestured toward April’s now-zipped pants, “Obviously. _God_.”

“Yeah,” April still felt like she was on another planet, in another universe.

The blonde considered her for a moment. “You could talk to her, you know.”

_Why was Debbie doing this? Just opening the door for her, straight into Sterling’s arms? If that's what she even wanted?_

“What? Why?” She was on the defensive, always on the defensive.

“April. Do you think I haven’t noticed that you’ve never even used her _bathroom_?”

“Well...it’s impolite.”

“And fucking her _married_ mother is what?” The question came in a pointed whisper.

April didn’t have a good answer for that. “Whatever, Debbie. I don’t know.”

Words from a lost Forensics tournament echoed in her head. _You make a great point._

\--

That Sunday at church, Sterling sat in The Wesley’s usual pew with her mother and it felt more like high school than April ever cared to experience again. It was overwhelming - the dueling anxieties of being so close to Sterling whilst fearing she may suddenly discover her dirty little secret. But this time, it was a secret not even Sterling and her big, bleeding heart could forgive. This was a secret that could only tear them apart. So, when the time came, she didn’t extend a hand across the aisle. She wasn’t quite sure she wanted the risk of peace.

Mass let out, _finally_ , and she could breathe again, her lungs no longer heavy under the weight of the Wesley women. On her way to the car, a blonde - one who remembered laser tag and skeeball and parking lots - caught up with her. “April, hey! My mom said you forgot this.”

Her stupid fucking tupperware.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on twitter @ [ki1yun](https://twitter.com/ki1yun)


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